RedCheeked Interrogation
by Cora Clavia
Summary: "Let me go now, and I won't kill you." "I'm not nearly that foolish, woman," he chided her with a smile. "I know you're already thinking up the perfect way to dispose of my body." Oneshot.


**Red-Cheeked Interrogation  
**

**Summary:** Jane wants to talk to Lisbon, but she won't listen. He is forced to do something drastic.  
**Rating:** K+ish.  
**Disclaimer:** if I owned anything here, I wouldn't be a poor college student. I am a poor college student. Therefore, by proving the opposite of the consequent to be true, I have successfully proven the premise of the preceding statement false: I do not own anything here. Ha! QED! Win!

...I'm sorry, that was kind of fail.

* * *

Lisbon deposited her handcuffs and gun on the desk – sometimes she almost forgot how much lighter it felt to set them down – and buried her face in her hands with a sigh. Long day. Long week, actually. But at least it was Friday.

Footsteps roused her from her almost-nap, and she looked up to find Patrick Jane ambling blissfully into her office without knocking, although that itself was hardly unusual.

"Something I can do for you?" If she was very lucky, he might lose interest and leave. Not that that particular fantasy had ever stepped out of her dreams and into her life. Still. A woman could dream.

"We need to have a talk, my dear."

Oh, why? What had she done to deserve this? Why couldn't he just go take a snooze, which activity was silent and lowered her blood pressure? "This really isn't a good time, Jane."

"But it's important."

She didn't feel like giving in. "Not right now."

"But –"

"Jane, I said No. Please just go back to your couch and do whatever it is you do when you're not working." Which was most of the time, come to think of it.

"I didn't want to resort to drastic measures, but all right then." He stood, crossing around behind her, and she twisted in her chair to watch him.

"What are you – "

_snick snick_

"What the – DAMN it, Jane!" She pulled ineffectually, realizing that thanks to Jane, her hands were now securely handcuffed behind her. She hadn't even seen him touch the cuffs on her desk – although if anyone in the office knew sleight-of-hand, it was him – and now she was deprived of the ability to shoot him for it.

And the smug, blonde-haired bastard just pulled up a chair and sat across from her, examining the key. "It's not very decorative, is it? It's functional, but I think keys in general could be so much more elegant with a little effort."

"Jane, take these off of me right now."

"That would defeat the purpose of putting them on you in the first place, now, wouldn't it?"

"Let me go now, and I won't kill you."

"I'm not nearly that foolish, woman," he chided her with a smile. "I know you're already thinking up the perfect way to dispose of my body."

Okay, so maybe he was right. Next step: gather information. After all, she would need a good motive before it could be ruled a justifiable homicide.

"What do you want, Jane? Is there a reason for all of this?"

"Absolutely, my dear. You don't think I'd risk dismemberment solely for my own entertainment."

"I wouldn't put it past you."

He grinned. "Well, maybe you're right. But I do have a reason. You left me no choice, actually. We need to talk, and you won't listen to me. So this seemed like the most effective way to persuade you to sit down with me, short of actual hypnosis. And since you've already threatened me with murder anyway if I try that approach, I simply had to handcuff you to your chair."

"You're telling me it's _my_ fault you did this?"

"Of course not." He thought for a moment. "Well, maybe a little bit."

"Fine." His death would be either faster or slower. She would decide which one later. "What's so important that you had to risk abducting a senior agent?"

He beamed at her, appreciative as always of her ready wit. "I don't know if it's really abduction: that usually implies taking a person somewhere, whereas you and I are just sitting here, having a pleasant –"

"Jane!"

"Alright, you win. It's abduction." He set his hands back on his knees, looking at her squarely. "I know something's wrong, Lisbon. But I don't know what it is. You're hiding something."

"Did it ever occur to you that my private life is supposed to remain private?"

"Briefly. But I truly think this is different. Whatever 'this' is."

"Different?"

"I don't know what it is, but I think it's something you want to share but won't let yourself."

"You're the one who claims to be able to read my mind," she huffed. "You tell me."

"You're not always as easy to read as you think you are."

She glanced up, startled, to find him looking at her with an earnest face and an expression of genuine concern. Taken aback, she paused before answering quietly. "It's just been a bad week."

"It's something about the case, isn't it?" More statement than question.

She nodded slowly, and he settled back in his chair, his eyes falling to the floor. She could see him running the facts through his hyperactive mind.

A teenage girl with two younger siblings, whose mother had been killed several years earlier in a car accident – she was found dead, beaten almost beyond recognition. At first her alcoholic father insisted it was because of drugs, swearing she had started using and selling because she was too lazy to find a real job. But eventually they discovered the truth: her abusive boyfriend had killed her in a rage when she refused to sleep with him.

And she saw the instant he pieced it all together, his eyes widening, his face falling.

He fell silent, looking back up at her with anguished eyes. "I'm sorry, Lisbon. I should have realized."

"It's alright. You had no reason to know."

"Are you OK?"

"It was a long time ago. I'm fine."

"But it was – he tried to – " He paused, cautious, not sure exactly how to word his question.

To hell with it, she decided. He'd already figured out enough to suspect the rest. "It was outside the prom. He – he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, and he dragged me into the bushes. One of my friends saw it happen, and he ended up with a broken nose. I never saw him again." She took a deep breath. "I had to throw away my dress before my dad could see it. I was too afraid to show him."

"I'm so sorry." He looked stunned, angry, almost disbelieving that someone had almost managed to do _that_ to the immovable force that was Teresa Lisbon. No wonder, then, that she had spent the majority of her adult life making sure she would never be a victim again.

"It's OK."

He fell silent for a second, setting his hand on her shoulder very gently. Neither spoke for a moment; it was nice to have a quiet moment together. And though he'd been prying a little, she appreciated that he'd let her simply tell him, instead of hounding her and pulling it out of thin air. She'd never told anyone what had happened that night. Until now.

But a glance at the clock told her that time had continued moving during that unpleasant trip back to high school, and before too long, they were likely to be discovered. With her cuffs still on.

"Will you please let me go now?"

"Well, I was going to leave you here for Minelli to find and turn on 'Sex Bomb' on the radio –"

" – if you even _think_ about it – "

" – but since I've put my life at enough risk for today, I think I'll just let you go."

She heaved a sigh of relief. Minelli would have had a coronary.

But instead of reaching to release her hands, he turned away and moved to leave her office, key in hand. "Wait! Where are you going?"

"You don't think I'm really foolish enough to be standing around when you get freed, Lisbon? I'm going to go hide my poor self until you abandon all your plans to get me back for this."

"Wait, please – "

"Don't worry. I won't let Minelli see you." To her surprise, he came back to her side, leaned down, and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. "Have a lovely weekend, my dear."

His smile widened as she looked down, blushing furiously. When she collected herself enough to look up again, he was gone.

The ultimate lesson: do not leave shiny things sitting around where Jane can see them. In fact, Jane-proof the entire office.

She heard voices murmuring outside, and a few seconds later, Cho appeared in her doorway with the key, staring at his boss cuffed to her own chair before simply shrugging. "I'm not even going to ask."

**HIER FERTIG!**

**Author's Note:** I feel like the only thing sexier than handcuffing Patrick Jane would be being handcuffed _by_ Patrick Jane. And hence, this story.

Thanks for reading!

That is all.


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